


Forgetting Your Blues

by amirosebooks



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Amnesia, Canonical Character Death, Diners, Fade to black sex, Fix-It, Fluff and Angst, Getting Together, M/M, Openly Bisexual Dean Winchester, Temporary Character Death, castiel with scruff, dean works in a diner, post season 12 episode 23
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-26
Updated: 2018-04-26
Packaged: 2019-04-28 07:47:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14444661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amirosebooks/pseuds/amirosebooks
Summary: Dean Jones doesn't know his real name. He woke up on a public park bench a few months back with an empty wallet and a driver's license listing the name Dean Jones with his picture. The name doesn't feel right on his tongue, but he doesn't remember what part is wrong.The cop who found him in the park got Dean a job in a local diner. The diner feels comfortable to Dean. He understands the rhythm of the place, the ebb and flow of the people and food, even if he's clearly never carried a tray of hot plates in his life. He settles into his new life. He makes new friends. He takes beautiful women and men and people to his bed for comfort on long nights. He has nightmares about blood covering his hands.Who is he?Why has no one come looking for him?What has he done?Why did he fall apart when he saw a guy wearing a tan trenchcoat?





	Forgetting Your Blues

**Author's Note:**

> This is a fic idea I got during the season 12 to 13 hellatus. I had this image in my mind of Dean working in a diner and not knowing who he was.  
> Betaed by: wargurl83 and malmuses <3

 

Dean Jones wiped down the bar top counter and watched the window of the diner. The world slipped by in passing cars and walking strangers on the other side of the glass. Sometimes he liked to imagine where all those people were going. What kind of lives did they lead? Did any of them dream of monsters like he did?

One of the diner’s regulars lifted his coffee mug to signal his need for a refill. Dean nodded in the man’s direction. They were busy today. It wasn’t the time to get lost in daydreaming.

Five hours later, Dean was counting out his tips at a booth. His cup of coffee and slice of pie sat on the table next to his pile of crumpled ones and fives.

“How are you doing?” Joyce asked as she slid into the opposite side of the booth. Her red-blonde hair was wrapped back in a braid. The straggler strands around her face were held down by bobby pins. She was the aunt of the cop who’d found Dean sleeping and confused in a public park nearby seven months before.

“I’m always good,” Dean said with a smile. “I don’t remember any of the baggage I might have. I made decent tips today. Life is good.”

She tilted her head to the side as she studied him.

Dean swallowed and reached for his plate of pie. Something about that look always made his chest ache like he was dying, but he couldn’t remember why.

“Dean,” she said in a low voice.

He looked at her as he stuffed another bite of pie into his already full mouth. Something told him she wanted to talk and that whatever she wanted to talk about it wasn’t anything he wanted to hear.

“Robbie told me you…” her mouth bobbed open and shut as she seemed to be searching for words that wouldn’t hurt him. “He told me you had some kind of panic attack last Saturday night. What happened?”

Dean choked on a bit of dry pie crust. She waited patiently for him to get his breath back and all his food down.

How was he supposed to explain to the woman who’d taken him in and given him a life when he’d lost everything, including his memories, that he’d burst into tears at the sight of a man in a tan trenchcoat in the middle of their dinner rush? They weren’t little tears either. It wasn’t just a watering of the eyes that had struck him numb and broken in the midst of the diner. He was full on sobbing by the time his knees had hit the tile of the men’s bathroom and he’d retched up anything and everything in his stomach.

Why did he cry when he saw a man in a trenchcoat? Dean still didn’t know.

_His hair is the wrong color._

He also didn’t know why thoughts like that kept coming to him. Like he was holding strangers up against a man he didn’t know to judge their worth.

Dean’s fork scraped across his plate. He looked down to see the last of the cherry filling and crust was gone. He put his fork down on the plate and reached for his coffee.

“Did someone hurt you?” Joyce asked. “Did one of the customers threaten you or something to trigger a panic attack like that?”

He shrugged, helpless.

“I don’t know, Joyce,” Dean said. “One minute I was fine. I’d just cashed out a table and wished the family goodnight. Then the next thing I knew I couldn’t breathe and I ran to the restroom, so I didn’t scare any of the customers.”

Joyce nodded. “Do you think it was the family?”

Dean frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Do you think it was seeing the family together that triggered you?” Joyce asked. “Do you feel like you have a family out there waiting for you? Or like you might have lost your family before coming here?”

_I lost everything._

There was a hard lump in Dean’s throat that he swallowed against. That damn voice in his head was rarely helpful.

“I don’t know, maybe,” Dean said. His coffee mug was empty, and he was overcome with the urge to be anywhere but in this diner, this booth. “Is there anything else you need me to do tonight? I think I’m gonna head out.”

She pressed her lips together and studied him again. “You’re free to go. Take care of yourself and, Dean, if you ever need someone to talk to, I’m here for you.”

“Thanks,” Dean said with a tight smile.

Two hours later, Dean was three drinks in on his night off. Bodies pressed against him on all sides on the dance floor of the club. Music he didn’t care for but still felt the need to move to played loud enough to vibrate his bones and drown out the world around him. Music and alcohol and beautiful people dancing with him helped wash away everything troubling him. That annoying voice in his head couldn’t bother him here. Visions of monsters from his nightmares didn’t reach him here. No one cared that he couldn’t remember his own name here. It was peaceful in its loudness.

Strong arms wrapped around Dean’s waist. He looked over his shoulder at the stranger with messy hair, stubble-covered jawline, and light eyes. The man raised his eyebrows in a silent question to see if Dean was okay with the attention. Dean nodded and sunk back against the man’s chest as they started to dance together.

Something about the man felt almost like home.

They danced. They drank. They kissed. They fell into the other man’s bed at the end of the night. It wasn’t until morning, when sunlight spilled through the man’s curtains that the annoying voice in Dean’s head spoke again.

_His eyes are the wrong shade of blue._

 

###

 

Weeks passed. Nightmares continued to wake Dean up in cold sweats chasing his breath.

The nightmares were a special kind of awful. Their subject matter varied wildly. Sometimes there were creatures with too many teeth who looked like men when their mouths weren’t bathed in blood. Other times the creatures with too many teeth had long tongues and faces like chest-ripper aliens.

He dreamt of endless asphalt and a long black hood on the car he drove. The passengers on the seat next to him shifted from dream to dream.

Joyce would melt away to show a girl with blonde hair twirling a knife between her fingers or a girl with red hair and a bright smile who talked with her hands while recounting sword fights.

Robert, the cook at the diner with his dark hair pulled back in an ever-present ponytail, would melt away to a quiet, tall man with long hair who would alternate between studying a laptop and sleeping soundly against the window. If it wasn’t the tall man, Robert would melt away to reveal a surly-looking college student with dark hair and hurt eyes whose arms were constantly curled around a backpack.

Dean could never bring himself to look into the backseat of the car.

The worst dreams were the ones where his hands ended up soaked in blood. Sometimes they shook with adrenaline and shame. Other times, the worst times, they were steady. Like there was something in him that was confident and empowered by the obvious destruction.

Did Dean kidnap these people once upon a time? Did he hurt them? What happened in the back of that car? Did it even exist?

These were the questions he asked himself as he washed night sweat and phantom blood from his skin every morning. The questions that ran through his head when he woke before dawn with a scream held back by his clenching teeth.

He never told anyone about his nightmares.

 

###

 

Today marked a full nine months had passed since Dean woke up cold, alone, and confused in the park with a flashlight shining in his eyes and no clue what his own name was. Every time another month passed, Dean reacted a little differently. Sometimes he was angry that no one came looking for him. Wasn’t he missed by anyone?

Other times he was so sad he could barely move. He ached for people he didn’t remember. He ached for the version of himself he didn’t remember. And, again, he wondered why no one had looked for him. He wondered what he could have done to make himself so unloved that no one would search for him when he was so obviously lost.

Today, he didn’t have the chance to feel any of those things. The diner was far too busy for Dean’s thoughts to stray beyond which tables needed refills and which orders went where. He loved it when they were busy.

When the rush finally began to die down, Dean’s body ached. He had more stamina than a lot of his coworkers, even if he didn’t seem to have previous experience with being on the service end of a diner, but he still felt it at the end of a shift.

Joyce waved him over. “Can you handle one more table before you head home?”

“Of course,” Dean said.

She gave him a judging look like she didn’t believe he’d thought through his response enough, but she seemed to decide it wasn’t worth scolding him for.

“Great,” Joyce said. “Table of three down at the end. I gave them their menus already.”

“Drink orders?” Dean asked.

Joyce grabbed two coffee mugs and filled them. “The other one asked for a strawberry milkshake and a water.”

“Got it,” Dean said as he turned to make the shake.

A few minutes later, he set all the drinks onto a tray and carried them to the table. Only one person was sitting at the table when he reached it, a young man with flopping yellow-blond hair and a wide, goofy smile.

“Let me guess, the strawberry shake is for you,” Dean said as he felt the kid’s smile start to echo on his own face.

“Yes,” the kid said. He looked like he could be in college, but the lightness around him felt like that of a little kid. “I like milkshakes.”

“Good call, kid,” Dean said as he slid the glass and metal shaker cup across the table. “Milkshakes are delicious.”

“Dean?” a man’s voice asked.

Dean turned toward the voice and froze in place. It was the tall, long haired guy from his dreams. The man looked just as shocked as Dean did. The tray started to shake in Dean’s hands. He grabbed the coffee mugs and water glass and hurriedly set them on the table to keep them from falling to the floor.

“I’ll be back in a bit to get your food orders,” Dean said as he tucked the tray under his arm and started to rush toward the kitchen.

“Dean, wait,” the man said.

Dean shook his head. “I’m sorry. I don’t know you.”

The words tasted like a lie on his tongue, but he didn’t know why. Surely his nightmares and dreams weren’t real. They couldn’t be. All those monsters. All that blood on his hands.

Dean reached out to push open the swinging door leading to the kitchen. He studied the back of his hands. No blood.

“Dean?” Another voice asked. This one was deeper than the other man’s voice. Tears sprung in Dean’s eyes and threatened to spill onto his cheeks.

Dean turned.

The brightest blue eyes Dean could remember seeing stared back at him. The man’s dark hair was wild and ruffled on his head. His cheeks were softened by a dark beard that looked out of place.

_The beard is new._

Dean frowned.

The man with the blue eyes stared at him with a small smile. “Hello, Dean.”

Pain spread across Dean’s head. He gripped the edge of the breakfast bar as his knees began to buckle. Memories flooded through him.

Those same blue eyes with heavy, drugged-out lids and scruffy beard at the end of the world. A longer beard and hospital clothes in the middle of a strange forest. A coat. A tan trenchcoat over an ill-fitting suit. Smooth jawline and smiling eyes that were once so serious.

Flashes of moments passed too quick to study.

Crinkled eyes and a gummy smile. Lips pressed together and a determined look. A long silver blade.

Dean gasped as he stared at the man’s chest.

The man running through a doorway made of light. _He’s home. He’s safe._ One of those blades appearing in the middle of the man’s chest. Dean’s own voice screaming in desperate agony. Blue-white light pouring from the man’s chest, eyes, mouth. Dean hitting his knees in the sand next to the man’s prone body.

Wings.

_I haven’t seen his wings in years. I’ve never seen them like this._

Dean let go of the counter and grabbed a handful of the man’s heavy canvas jacket. He collapsed against the man. _Not a man. Angel. He’s an angel of the Lord. Castiel._

“Cas,” Dean sobbed as he dropped his forehead against the curve of the man’s neck and pulled him closer. “I lost you. I lost everything.”

Cas wrapped his arms around Dean. His fingers dug into the thin fabric of Dean’s work uniform t-shirt. His beard was soft and rough against Dean’s temple. “I always come back to you, Dean.”

“Is this my jacket?” Dean asked, his voice rough and thick with slowing tears.

Cas’s laugh rumbled in his chest below Dean’s fingers. “It is. I… I wanted a piece of you when I came back and found you gone.”

“Sorry about that,” Dean said. “I don’t know what happened.”

Cas hummed and nodded. His touch tightened a bit.

“You died on me again,” Dean said. “I thought I told you never to do that again.”

“My apologies,” Cas said.

 

###

 

Hours later, after finally letting Cas go enough to hug Sam and meet Jack—the Nephilim who brought about this whole mess—Dean spoke with Joyce. He explained as much as he could about what he remembered and where he was going. She called Cas his husband, probably thanks to the way Dean had sobbed all over the guy in the middle of the damn diner and refused to let go of his hand later, and Dean didn’t argue the title.

He made promises to visit again when they were in town and told her to call him if she ever ran into anything weird enough that it made her question her sanity. She gave him a curious look at that but agreed.

When they’d reached the parking lot of the diner, Dean set eyes on the Impala again for the first time in nine months.

“Hi, Baby,” he’d said as he caressed her cool metal.

Cas told him about how they’d found Baby stashed somewhere in Iowa eight and a half months ago and how he’d been driving her ever since. Dean insisted Cas drive them away from the diner and listened to Cas tell him all about the videos on classic car care he’d studied religiously while Dean was gone so he could keep her in good shape in Dean’s absence.

Cas’s thigh was warm and comforting beneath Dean’s palm while they drove.

Now Dean and Cas shared a hotel room. A real hotel with the little soaps and chocolates on the pillows. Sam and Jack were staying down the hall somewhere. Sam had mumbled something about spending time together and using their words when he’d pressed the separate room key into Dean’s hand.

Dean was thankful he didn’t have to spell it out for Sam that he had no intentions of letting Cas out of his sight for at least the next three lifetimes. Maybe that would keep the stupid angel from dying on him again.

“You’re quiet,” Cas said. His voice rumbled in his chest as he trailed his fingertips over Dean’s shoulder and back. Dean nuzzled against Cas’s chest and tightened his grip on the angel’s torso. Cas chuckled. “I thought there would be more yelling when we finally found you.”

“The yelling will come later,” Dean said. He traced over the part of Cas’s chest where the angel blade had pierced through him. “Right now, we cuddle.”

Laughter bubbled through Cas. Dean propped himself up to stare at that gummy smile he’d missed so much.

“What?” Dean asked.

Cas shook his head as his smile widened. “I don’t know. I was thinking of how I never thought you’d insist on cuddling and then I started to laugh and now I can’t stop. Human emotions are still so strange.”

“Human?” Dean asked.

Cas’s laughter died down and he licked his lips before nodding. “Yes, when I… came back, I was graceless. Human. Whatever happened between when Lucifer stabbed me and when I woke up beneath the sheet Sam and Jack had draped over me while they built the pyre they intended to burn me on left me human.”

Dean cupped Cas’s cheek. His chest ached. “I should have been there when you woke up. I shouldn’t have taken off like that.”

“Dean,” Cas said.

Dean shook his head. “No, don’t make excuses for me. I should have been there. I should have helped you transition into being human, both times. I wasn’t there for you either time.”

“Dean,” Cas said, softer this time. His hand was warm on Dean’s cheek. His thumb a settling weight on his lips. Cas’s brow wrinkled as he studied Dean. “It’s not your fault. Shh, no, it’s my turn to talk, Dean Winchester. You went through the trauma of losing your mother all over again when you’d just gotten her back. No one is blaming you for needing to take some time away from this life after something like that.”

Dean stared back at him, dumbfounded. Yes, he remembered watching Mary knock Lucifer into the alternate world and get drug through the door herself just as it was closing, but that wasn’t what hurt him so bad he’d repressed the memory of who he was. That wasn’t what made him run across the country to escape the pain.

“Is that really what you think happened?” Dean asked.

For the first time since they’d been reunited, Cas looked unsure of himself. He let his hand fall from Dean’s face to curl around Dean’s elbow. “What else could have triggered it? Do you think it was a side effect of being near the rift when it closed?”

Dean closed his eyes to keep Cas from seeing him roll them so hard. When he opened them again, Cas looked even more unsteady. “It was you, idiot. I had just watched you die. Full on wings on the ground, angel blade through your fucking chest, grace burning out through your eyes die.”

“Me?” Cas asked in a voice so soft it was barely a whisper.

“I love you, dumbass,” Dean said. “I watched everything I gave a shit about shatter into pieces in front of me when you died this time. I couldn’t handle it, so I fucking ran because of you. Because I love _you_.”

“Oh,” Cas said.

Dean’s cheeks warmed as he watched Cas’s face. Looking for any kind of reaction, anything more than that one word.

Finally, just as the contents of Dean’s stomach were threatening to sour and Dean was starting to contemplate calling Joyce up to see if he could keep his job after all, Cas’s eyes started to glisten in the low lamp light. Then the most brilliant smile spread across his face like dawn across a field.

“Oh,” Cas said again, stronger this time in a voice filled with wonder and joy. “I love you too, Dean.”

Fireworks went off in Dean’s soul as Dean leaned down to crush Cas’s mouth against his own.

The kiss was deep and slow and paired with wandering hands and tangled legs. It felt like they kissed for hours, rolling around in the hotel sheets together, whispering _I love you_ over and over against each other’s skin. They shared breath. They traded pleasure as their bodies moved together slowly and of their own accord, kissing through it all as they both came in their boxers. They stripped each other of their soiled clothes and traced the lines of their bodies with fingertips, palms, and lips.

When the kissing slowed down to a more languid, sleepy pace, their fingers found each other and intertwined. They fell asleep tangled together as close as their souls had always begged them to be.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> <3 Thank you so much for reading! I've wanted to work on this fic for nearly the last year and it came together much easier than I thought it would.  
> You can find me on tumblr: [amirosebooks](http://amirosebooks.tumblr.com/)  
> 


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